The Final Case
by Emily Poe
Summary: Holmes and Watson are called out to a gruesome string of murders. When they catch the murderers in the act, what will happen? And when something goes terribly wrong how will Sherlock live on? You guessed it, someone will die! Oh I'm so mean to them.
1. Chapter 1

The Final Case.

okay so i got the idea for this fic from the song My Immortal by Evanescence. ive only been listening to two songs for the past, say, eight hours. those would be My Immortal and All About Us. I have a vague one for All About Us, but it still in the brainstorming stage.

Warning:Character death.

I do not own the characters portrayed by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. thats only in my dreams.

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Holmes and Watson had been on a rather gruesome case. A string of murders, happening within close proximity of each other, in rather the same way, and to people who had things in common with each other. All the murders took place right outside of London, in a ten acre field near three abandon farms. The field was relatively empty, with hardly anyone going into them. The bodies would be delivered back to their homes after the murder was done. Holmes was only able to figure out where they were committed because on all the victims there was a certain type of dirt on the clothes, and the only place to find that dirt in a ten kilometer radius from the neighborhood where the victims live is that field, and it is also safe to say that it would be very unlikely that the murderers would go farther than that field to commit the murders then smuggle the bodies back in the dead of night. It would be too dangerous on their part. The victims had come from a rich neighborhood where the finer people live. All of the victims had been shot, execution style, and they were young people, their ages ranging from fifteen to nineteen years of age. Also they were all children of government figures. So Holmes had deduced that they had been killed by radicals, people who were not pleased with the way the government was running and evidently had been wronged in some way by the parents, at least that is what the murderers think.

The murders happened once a month, twenty-eight days between each other. Holmes deduced that the murderers used one of the farms. Since one of the farms was very unstable and with half the roof caved in, that would only leave two farms left. There had already been three murders. Natalie Hemingway, age fifteen, Samuel Tucker, age seventeen, and Robert Argon Jr., age nineteen. There were only two children of government officials left in that area. Emily Tyler, age thirteen, and Logan Martin, age sixteen. Lestrade was very worried with the situation. The twenty-eight days since the last murder was up and he knew as well as Holmes and Watson one of the children would be taken and murdered. Lestrade called Holmes and Watson in for backup. Since young Logan was a boy and older than Emily, he would be the one the killers would target. Of course he put a guard in Emily's room and Holmes and Watson offered to stay at the Tyler's home too, just to be on the safe side.

Before Holmes and Watson left Baker Street to go to the Tyler's home Watson and Holmes were saying good bye to . After that the called a four wheeler and were off.

"This will be a most exciting night, won't it Holmes.", Watson spoke up after a minute.

"Yes, a very exciting one indeed. At least we will get the killers behind bars and hopefully on the executioners block.", Holmes said with a smile.

"Yes. Taking away a human life, especially a child's, is a most horrendous crime. I just can't see how anyone could do it.", said Watson, with a slight frown coming over his face

"Nor do I Watson. People like that have poisoned minds and dark hearts. When they go as far as killing three children, there's really no turning back for them. They'll just keep going."

Watson was silent for a moment and then shook his head

"Let's stop this talk of death and evil. I'm looking forward to getting this night over with and coming back here in the morning to eat some of 's biscuits.", Watson said, a smile coming back to his face.

Holmes smiled and chuckled at his friend. If only he knew what was to come tonight.

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was that good? please don't tell me it was too OOC. comments=love! 


	2. Chapter 2

The Final Case-part two

ah, part two! again none of the characters here belong to me except the murder victims, their families, and the loonies who killed them. seriously, why did you guys have to go and murder kids. thats messed up.

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Holmes and Watson arrived at the house of Emily Tyler at around eight o'clock. Lestrade was there waiting for them there. Holmes and Watson stepped out of the four wheeler and greeted him.

"Hello Lestrade. So this is the home of miss Emily Tyler?", Holmes asked with a coy smile.

"Rather lovely home.", Watson said, admiring the house. They stepped inside and were met by a police officer that would be staying in the girl's room and her parents.

", are you sure my baby will be safe tonight?", asked the mother of miss Tyler. She looked very distressed and worried.

"Yes, maybe we should have more police officers. How do we know the killers won't strike here?", asked the father of the girl. He looked less distressed, but was definitely worried about his daughters safety.

"Please, Mr. and , it is highly doubtful that the killers would strike here. It is more likely they would try the Martin's home. They have a son and he is older, meaning he is more eligible to get a government position. Besides, you have here. I would trust the man with my life. If push does come to shove, he is an excellent boxer and would surely overcome any obstacle. And his also trustworthy friend, , has a revolver with him, so he is ready for anything, isn't that right Doctor?", Said inspector Lestrade.

"Yes, I do indeed have my revolver. And Holmes will keep your daughter safe, isn't that right Holmes?", Watson said to his friend.

"Yes, I do promise to keep your daughter safe and secure. You two may sleep easy tonight an will see your daughter in the morning."

The two Tyler's seemed to have eased out somewhat and looked less worried. Soon Inspector Lestrade left and Watson and Holmes were left in the den. The Tyler's had all gone to sleep and a police constable had been put in Emily's room, as to watch over her. Soon the hours went by and it was one in the morning. Watson and Holmes were talking about everyday matters. Suddenly Holmes motioned for Watson to quiet. Watson listened, but could here nothing.

"What is it Holmes? I can't here a thing."

"Exactly.", Holmes said, his face grim.

Watson understood what Holmes meant and then they were rushing up the stairs to the girl's room. They tried opening the door but it was locked. Holmes and Watson both tried to knock the door down together. The noise woke up the parents of Emily. They asked what was wrong, and Holmes expressed his fears. Together Holmes, Watson, and both rammed the door through. All four people rushed into the room. The bed was empty. Watson looked at the bed in disbelief. Watson turned from the scene and came to see and even more terrible one. There the police constable was slumped over, a knife through his head. Watson gave out a gasp and a scream. held onto his wife, a grim look on his face and tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Holmes looked grim as he stood there piecing the puzzle together. Quickly Holmes turned to .

"Quickly, phone Inspector Lestrade! There isn't any time to lose!"

Holmes went to the bed. He placed his hand where the girl had once laid in.

"Still warm. She wasn't taken long ago. At the most a half an hour."

He then went to the window across from the bed. He noticed the window did not have a lock on it and that some shingles had been misplaced, like someone were trying to climb up and lost their footing.

"At least two of the killers climbed up here. With no locks on the windows it was easy to get in. One would've killed the constable before he could get the alarm out and the other would've grabbed the girl. If I'm right you'll find roof shingles under the window, possibly on those bushes since that's where they would have to have landed. The case isn't over yet. It's just beginning." 


	3. Chapter 3

The Final Case-part three.

Okay, so this part will be a little more gruesome than the rest. Oh what am I saying, you guys may cry at what will happen! Just warning you all.

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Lestrade arrived within minutes. Holmes explained to him what happened.

"Then we must leave at once! There's not a moment to lose!", Lestrade exclaimed.

"Then stop wasting moments and hurry.", Holmes said from the front door.

Holmes, Watson, Lestrade, and three constables were out the door and in a four wheeler in seconds. Mr. and were at the front door. had collapsed onto the ground crying and screaming for her baby girl and was holding back the tears that were so desperate to burst.

Holmes directed the four wheeler where to go and the rest of the trip was made in silence. They were dropped off at the side of the field. They ran to the middle of it. Holmes turned to Lestrade.

"Lestrade, if we split up there will be more of a chance to find the girl alive. You go to the farm on the left, and I and Watson on the right. Now Hurry!"

Both parties ran in opposite directions to their designated farm houses. Watson and Holmes hurried to the farm house they were to go to. The slowed when the were able to see the farm house clearly. The slowly made their way to the farm house through the grass and twisted roots of trees. Holmes motioned Watson to stop before Holmes mad his way to the entrance. Holmes looked in and saw...no one was there. Suddenly there was a shot very close to the farm house. Holmes and Watson darted towards it. They hid behind an oak tree and looked at the scene. Watson gasped and Holmes clenched his fists. They were too late. There lay on the ground, a bullet through her head and with blood coming from the wound was young Emily Tyler, now dead. The shot would have been painless. She would have been killed instantly.

"Oh my lord.", Watson said under his breath.

Holmes quickly quieted him, but it was too late. The murderers had seen them. There were seven of them, so Holmes and Watson couldn't fight them all. Also three of them had guns and the rest knives. Quickly Holmes and Watson darted from the scene. Their blood rushing and their hearts pounding with fear they ran from their assailants. Watson stumbled for a moment and fell. Holmes quickly grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him. Bullets were now flying at them.

Suddenly there was a scream. Holmes whirled around to see Watson clutching his chest. His eyes were wide and his hands had become stained with blood. Three had been shot in his back and gone through his chest and exited his body. He fell to his knees and then fell to the ground and curled up in a ball, screaming. Holmes felt frozen in time. His best friend, no, his brother had been shot and now laid dying on the ground in a bloody mess.

"No, Watson! No!!"

Instinct and rage quickly over took Holmes. He went to his friends side and pulled out the revolver. He pointed it at the people who had hurt his Watson. The faltered for a moment, but then rushed forward. Holmes let the bullets fly. He shot everyone of them, and even when they were all dead on the ground he still riddled their body with bullets until there wasn't a bullet left. Holmes came back to himself and realized what had happened. He threw the gun away and fell to his knees at his friends side. Watson was still screaming. The bullets had hurt him so much. Holmes wrapped hi arms around his Watson and held tight. Before he knew it he was on the ground cradling his friends body. Watson had tears running down his face and so did Holmes. All Watson could do was clutch his chest where the pain was the most. He had stopped screaming. He was too exhausted.

"Holmes, it-it hurts....so much. I..I can't go on. Holmes, I'm-I'm going to die, I know it. I'm going to die in this field tonight. I'm-I'm scared.", Watson choked out.

Holmes shook his head.

"No you won't Watson, I'll make sure of that. Tomorrow morning you'll be back at Baker Street eating 's wonderful, fresh biscuits that she'll have ready for us when we get back.", Holmes said, trying to convince himself more than Watson that he was going to live.

"Holmes, I know I won't live, and I am scared, but more for you than me. I love you Holmes.", Watson said with all his strength.

There were a few more shuddering breaths, then all was still. Holmes waited a few more seconds, just hoping that his Watson would come back. He didn't. Holmes let his tears run and didn't care who saw. His Watson was dead, and a part of Holmes had died too.

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Oh i swear i felt tears coming on while writing this part. im too cruel!!!! please dont hurt me! one more part and then this story is done! 


	4. Chapter 4

The Final problem-part four

last part! dont worry, no more deaths, just depression.

do not own none of the characters by Doyle.

oh and this time i put it in Holmes point of view. dont know why i didnt do it with the rest. may go back and change, but will probably just be too lazy.

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The funeral was on a Sunday. Lestrade had found me holding the dead body of my friend. He sent his constables to find the girls body and had eased my to let my friend go and stand. When I looked back down on my friend, he didn't quite look like Watson. He looked different. Of course that's what happens when people die. There spirit, heart, and mind leave and just the body is left behind. In an hour three carriages came within the hour to take the bodies. One for the murderers, who wouldn't be missed, one for the girl, who's death would be called part of the most tragic killings in London history, and one for my friend, who would be called a tragic loss and a hero. Where the bodies would be buried were some what thought out. The seven murderers were to be buried in the local cemetery, the young girl would be buried in a private cemetery owned by her family, and, well, there was some controversy on where Watson would be laid to rest. He had no surviving family members to speak of and had left no will, for what man thinks to die at a young age? But everyone knew who was the only rightful person to have any say over where Watson would be buried. And that person was me. I picked the spot he died at, under an old oak tree there. Since no one owned that land it would be quite all right.

Only a handful of people came. Of course I came and came too, with her sister accompanying her. Mycroft came and, though he would deny it if you asked, he did cry a little. All the irregulars came, the smaller ones crying openly and the older ones trying to put a straight face on, but in the end crying as well. Lestrade, Gregson, and the whole police force came as well. Some of Watson's patients came and a few mutual friends. We did the whole precession and soon it came to say one last goodbye. There was a line and though many people thought I should be first, I wanted to be the last to say goodbye. was in front of me and could here her choking on sobs and holding back tears. To her this was like losing a son since she was so much like a mother to Watson and me. We would make messes, mostly me anyway, and she would clean them up. She would cook for us, help us out with problems from time to time and has even helped us on cases once or twice, though she would never admit it.

Soon I was standing over Watson's body in the casket. He looked very at peace. Even though most people would have put him in a black suit as is accustomed for funerals I requested, well more like demanded, that he be put in a suit he would wear any other day. His hand were laid over his stomach, which brought back terrible scenes from the night he died when he was clutching his chest in pain, but it looked a very comfortable position. His cheeks had lost their color and now he was very pale. His lips weren't the usual pink color, but were dulled out and were about as white as the rest of his face. His hair was combed in it's usual way, but didn't have that glossy look it usually had. It had dulled out and was now dead. His eyes were closed and it looked as though he were asleep. If only. I put one of me hands on his hands and then moved it up to his cheek. I leaned down and kissed his forehead, not caring who looked or what they would say. Then I stepped back and let them bury him. I stayed when all had gone away, even and Mycroft. I just kept staring at that grave and reading the words over and over.

Here lies John Watson 1852-1888 Beloved friend

Under that were two poems. One I had picked out an one I had written. Though I like the one I picked out better, I must say I'm proud that I had written something that conveyed my feelings. At least now people couldn't say I was heartless. I read Mrs. Hudson's first.

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,  
Smiles awake you when you rise ;  
Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry,  
And I will sing a lullaby,  
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.  
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,  
You are care, and care must keep you ;  
Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry,  
And I will sing a lullaby,  
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Yes it sounds like a poem for a child, but I liked it. Besides Watson could be child like at times and at other times he would seem so innocent that I almost thought he was a child. The other one wasn't the greatest one, but it was on I was proud of.

Here lays a friend of mine Though you may have never met him He touched my heart and so many others He helped me through my darkest times And was there for my brightest He was a brother, he was a friend But most of all he was me and I him.

I smiled and finally walked back to Baker street.

It was thirty years to the day that Watson died. I am now old and retired. I own a bee farm and make a living by selling honey and wax candles to local people and farmers market. It was hard work and I've gotten stung often, but it's been a peaceful life. I now own the field that Watson is buried in. I keep his grave sight neat and there is a trail leading to it. I'm walking on that trail now. died ten years after Watson and Mycroft died about three years ago. Lestrade had an unfortunate accident three years after Watson's death and died too. Gregson died five years after that, shot to death by two men. Most of the irregulars grew up and are now the finest of New Scotland Yard. I don't have anyone connecting me to my past really, but it's fine all the same. I've made new friends, yes it's amazing, I know. Oh look it's the Patterson twins. And now they're running up to me and giving me hugs and almost knocking me down.

"Hello girls.", I say with a smile. I've mellowed out through the years.

"Hello .", they say simultaneously. They are identical nine year old twins and if it weren't for their slight personality differences, even I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

"Playing at the the swings again?", i say more than ask.

They both nod their heads. There was a swing set on the Watson's oak tree, the tree where his body lay.

"You're mother wants more candles?", I say again, knowing that usually they would have just passed by with a simple hello and smile.

"Yes .", say Layla, the twin on the right.

"How did you know ?", asked Julia on the left.

"Because when you're not at the swing, not messing with my bees, you two are usually causing trouble for your mother, and it is usually by rough house, so I simply deduced that you knocked down some more candles, again."

Both girls laughed. Then they both started to walk away. I smiled at the girls and continued on my way. Before I got to the oak tree, I stopped by 's home. She was alive and young when Watson and I were London's greatest detectives. She knew my story very well and had heard about Watson's death the day after he died. She once said all of London wept that day. I stopped by her home because she sells flowers and I needed some for Watson's grave. We said good morning to each other and she gave me three flowers that she gave me every year. Usually I would just pick some wild flowers, but on his birthday and death day I always came here and got three special flowers. A lily, a sunflower, and a rose. I took the flowers and finally mad it to the oak tree. In the shade of the tree was Watson's grave. A laid the flowers down and sat on the ground.

"Hello Watson. It's a beautiful day today. I wish you could see it, though you probably can."

I was silent for a moment and then tears came to my eyes.

"I miss you so much Watson. I wish you could come back. Just for one day and I swear it would be your best day ever. We wouldn't go on a dangerous case, you wouldn't have to listen to my deductions, just all day we would stay in one place and talk. Just talk. But I can never have that one day, because life doesn't work that way."

I choked back a sob and then went home. It was evening and I found myself looking at my will. I had made it about two months ago, just in case. Everything I own had been given to my niece, Lucy. I had also requested that I be buried beside my friend, Watson. I put it away and then went to bed.

I had a strange feeling. Like I was light as a feather or I was a cloud or something like that and there was this blinding light. I opened my eyes and it was so sunny out with only a few clouds dotting the sky and there was this great field and a sparkling lake. There was also a dirt trail leading to this giant golden gate. I was looking around myself when suddenly I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I whirled around and what I saw, I could not begin to believe. It was Watson. He looked exactly the way he did when he died. His hair had a shine to it again, his mouth was smiling again, his cheeks had their rosy color back, his lips were full and pink, and his eyes. They were one of the most beautiful sights I had seen. They were shining and alive. He was shining and alive.

"Hello Holmes. I haven't seen you for a long time. You look the same as you always have.", he said with that wonderful smile.

I gave him a questioning look.

"What do you mean? I'm old and weak. Quite the opposite from you my friend."

Watson laughed which made me more confused as ever.

"Why don't you look at that mirror the Holmes.", he said pointing to his left.

Where had once been a plain rock now lay a mirror. I picked it up and gasped at what I saw. It was me, but I looked like I did thirty years ago. I looked like I did the day Watson died. I couldn't believe it. I put the mirror down and tried to take this all in. All the logic I had ever known went against everything that was happening. Things were too real for this to be a dream. Suddenly I looked at Watson.

"This isn't a dream, is it."

"Well, not really, no, it's not a dream Holmes. It's more like you dieing."

My eyes widened at his words. I had died, I was dead.

"Then that means...", I said turning towards the golden gates.

"Yes Holmes, those are the gates to heaven."

"And that means you are..", I said turning and pointing a finger at him.

"Yes Holmes, I'm a soul. But I'm as solid as any living thing.

I slowly brought my hand up to his cheek and touched it and he brought one of his hands up to my cheek and touched it. We were both solid as could be. We put our hands down and just stared at each other for a moment.

Suddenly the golden gates opened up an, even though there were openings in them, they seemed to bring more light in. Watson turned towards them.

"Come on Holmes, time to go."

"Go where?", said I, with some fear.

Watson smiled.

"A better place."

He laced his fingers through mine and we both went through the gates to a better place, together.

Hadn't originally thought to put heaven in this, but man did it make it awesome! 


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